Back in December
by li ross
Summary: Ozbert. Oneshot. Late night thougts and feelings from a regretful heart, what may them lead into this time? Somehow addictions take their toll on our pretty little liar/character as much. A.k.a: What comes into my mind when I'm sleepy and blue on a randow weekday's night, during an insomnia attack . Yes, yaoi/boyslove. Whether it is on not one-sided, you decide


(A/N: Seems like it takes some abs and a cigarette I wouldn't have smoked anyhow to get ideas out of my mind.)  
(Revised A/N, which means I'm slightly less sleepy now: This may be one of the most plot-less things I've written so far. I don't even know what it's like, I just… felt like portraying the uncertain emptiness and heartache that tend to greet us during regretful, sleepless nights… Somehow like a string o consciousness or somewhere near that… -continues after you've read through-)

**Back in December**

Bang.

Ouch, tsk.

- - Dumb…

Seems like you can't even bang your head against the writing desk without taking it too far, can you? That wasn't really meant to harm you, you know?

Anyway, even spoons seem to hate you tonight. How many attempts did it take you to sweeten that small cup of coffee, again?

The worst part of it is that today was a nice day. A nice, WARM, shiny day that got your feet glued to the ground –stunned- when you realized you wouldn't be needing your long, black coat today, in spite of the fact it's freakin' December and the temperature's been staying below water's boiling point for months now. You were so happy then you could almost have danced all over the street as you left the last blocks behind. In fact, you believe you did –and hope no one's seen too much.

But now the night's here and there's not even a cloud; not even the moon, or the wind's rustling din, or a truck's roaring buzz, none of them even bother to sound anymore as you're left brain-dead but up. Could you be more alone tonight? You've even run out of work – at least of any work you can fulfill with your mind as lost as it is right now.

Oh and you could really use some cigarettes. Really, really you could use them.

But guess what? You're out of them. You've been for a while… Since yesterday, to be more precise. And guess what else? You went out this morning with the pinpoint objective of buying some; but then you got lazy as left it for tonight, when you forgot… And where are you gonna go buy some now that you're already in your pajamas, two hours after midnight's struck?!

Though the fact that YOU are lazy doesn't mean your need for tobacco is as well like that at all.

You slide your elbows along the table, swiftly sinking down over your very own arms, and run your elegantly long now that you've grown up fingers through messy hair strands.

Oh why?

Then again, this isn't even about cigarettes. You've survived worse periods of abstinence, especially when you were with him… It's your brain, with thoughts exactly like THAT one that keeps you awake and raving all around.

Let's not even mention tomorrow's early start. What would it change if you got yourself tangled into a sea of regrets about how sleepily unhappy you'll be feeling when you wake up, itchy eyes and hammering migraine…?

After another twenty minutes or so of walking around all over the gloomy rooms of your too-big-for-one flat, you give up. There's no way you'll get a cigarette stuck on your lips out of thin air, or him out of your mind, no matter how much you try. And that's because, honestly, deep inside you don't want to quit suffering any of that. Not even sleep stands a chance.

Why the hell would you leave Pandora behind, all those years ago?

Right, because he told you too… And it hurt so much deep inside.

But then again, you could have perfectly believed he didn't mean that… And you would have been fucking right!

But you've always been a disaster of a manservant, or valet, or whatever words you put it into, because you've always been damn scared to be left behind. And that's why you decided it was better to run ahead yourself with a stupidly bright smile. But this wasn't even about serving him!

You lay yourself across the floor, because there's no use pretending you're "just perfectly fine" by now.

The hard, fresh marble floor of your flat feels so right. Hardness; somehow it's become comforting for you, but that's a lie.

It has always been. You've always loved to feel the pain grow stronger gradually as your skin and muscles give up being able to hold you up for such a long time not changing positions, taking in the suffering and telling yourself it's pleasurably right; because you can't dare feeling truly like that.

You wonder what _positions _HE would have liked you to be in?

There's no use even telling yourself off for those thoughts now. It's a lost cause anyway so _why_ _not _delight yourself in that heart-wrenching, mental pain as well as the one that will soon take over the back of your head and your own back?

Luckily or not, your golden hair makes up a decent pillow, so that may take a while.

But oh you've got the whole night…

How long has it been? 5 years? Six? It was winter as well when you left, though a much less cold one. You could even go play on the grass during the days which were nice. And God did you like to roll around, eventually getting him on top of you if only to see him do THAT squirming and blushing and…

Geez, you'll have some trouble calming down now. Weren't you looking for pain? By now you know a few good ways of getting false pleasure inside your pants so as to go and waste your precious memoirs on that.

It shouldn't be pleasurable besides- he came to you that night and gave you all of his love, setting it selflessly on the palm of your hand…

'Till you tossed it aside and went on coolly as if it had been just normal to reject him like that. To reject him at all, but back then you were still a child.

Why had it been? You know he wouldn't have gathered the courage out of nothing just like that… Oh, that's right. Now you remember it was THAT. You had known what you were getting into and in the last moment draw back!

He'd even come up with flowers, that old-fashioned, sentimental sap.

But you turned him down with indifference, alas in the meanest possible style, and laughed it off giggling out loud.

Only two weeks after you realized you wanted everything you could have had, but he was gone by then.

And by the time he came back, you were out of sight.

"Freedom."

You had told yourself you needed freedom after the seal was broken (quite much because of HIS efforts, in fact, you useless ungrateful brat!) And yet you didn't set yourself free at all. Shame and regret did way too good a job for that, and besides you know that means nothing by now.

But here you are.

Time's gone by and you've built your life – no matter how- away from that house. From everyone, in fact. Your sister came one holiday some time ago and you greeted her as freshly as idiocy would make you act. Honestly, was telling the truth so difficult in your eyes? A simple "I miss you" would have been enough.

Perhaps he would still have been around. He would even forgive you, Gil was like that and you knew that much. It was only necessary to ask her, she wouldn't mind even if you had her keep it a secret.

But here you are, laying across your decent flat's kitchen, legs and arms spread out like a star; living in the company of memories and a coffee machine that's become your one and best company.

Who would have thought you'd even absorbe his influence like that?  
He would not be proud, you're certain. Though at the same time you feel somehow honored to get to know what he has lived before you came back.

And the thought makes you laugh. Because just as well, you can't help failing him in this new way just as much.

Well, at least you've probably made Vincent glad, right?

The phone rings then and you lift up without even realizing you're doing that, stunned to the bone that such a thing can happen so late in the night.

Could it…?  
Of course not, you have not talked in 6 years, and you certainly have no reason to start now.

And YET you have hopes. Even after you've dismissed a phone-attendant from a local quiz-making agency with nicer words than she must be used to receive by that hour, you know you still hold dear in your heart the chance that he'll show up; that he remembers and can let off of every little thing you've screwed throughout your lives.

Because that's just like him; with such gold in his eyes and his heart.

You stand up and open the windows recklessly wide, drinking in all of the fresh air's coolness, then turn around. You grab an old small blue and black agenda stuffed with numbers you haven't dialed in a long while –if ever.

And you run. If only a few steps through the corridors, you run, watch the phone; you giggle out loud a kneel down, phone tube still in your hands.

(A/N: … Yes, there're lots of gaps, and I can't help liking that.  
Thank you if you read, I'd be blessed to know what you think about this little "experiment" of mine. ^^  
If somehow you thought I was talking about Gil until half through the story, then I feel complete –it'scrappyIknowitI'msorryshutup (a)

Have a nice life~)


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